


Aftershock

by tictocficsoc



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Community: avengerkink, Gang Rape, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, M/M, Tony Feels, kink meme fill, the Avengers are a family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:45:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tictocficsoc/pseuds/tictocficsoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To protect lives in a hostage situation, Tony Stark makes a bargain.  He tells himself it's no big deal, it'll be easy, he's done it before.  Then the aftershock sets in...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftershock

This, Tony thought, is what he gets for being responsible.

Five years in a row he'd turned down invitations from management to come and personally inspect the Stark Industries software development center in Eugene, Oregon. But this year, Pepper had given him an earnest talk about keeping up employee morale, and like a total sap, he'd agreed to go. That's what came of hanging out with a superhero team all the time -- the sense of personal responsibility began to rub off. And what did Tony get as a reward? The barrel of a machine pistol jabbed into the small of his back as he was herded into the employee cafeteria along with about two dozen terrified software engineers and a handful of cowering receptionists.

It was embarrassing, really. The six thugs who'd stormed the building -- Tony supposed they were technically terrorists, but he'd seen real terrorists up close and personal, thank you very much, he wasn't about to be impressed by a bunch of losers in ski masks -- appeared to have no clear plan except "take hostages, demand money." Even now, as they marched everyone toward the back of the cafeteria and made them sit on the floor, two of them were arguing about whether they should ask for a plane or a helicopter for their getaway vehicle, and whether the craft in question should take them to Canada or Mexico. Not just embarrassing but humiliating. When this mess was over, Tony was totally firing every security guard in this place for letting these yahoos take over.

Okay, every guard except the one elderly-looking guy who was currently sitting slumped against the wall, bleeding from a shoulder wound. That guy was getting a raise.

"You realize you're all screwed, right?" He told the nearest the nearest thug, a stocky guy in jeans and a bulky green sweatshirt, a few tufts of blond hair visible through a tear in his mask. "I mean, not to toot my own horn or anything, but of all the people you really _don't_ want to take hostage, I like to think I'm at least in the top five."

"Shut up, Stark," Blondie growled, swinging his gun around to point at Tony's chest. "You don't have your fancy flying suit here."

"True," Tony admitted, and fuck, he was never going anywhere without his suitcase armor ever again. "But I still have a team. Of superheroes. Who take this sort of thing very, very personally. Are you sure you've really thought this through?"

Blondie laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh. "Your team is in New York."

"They _were_ in New York." Tony smirked. "They have a jet that goes at Mach six. I'd tell you to do the math, but I suspect that may be asking too much."

"Shut up!" Another thug, this one taller and skinnier than Blondie, swung the butt of his rifle at Tony's midsection, a brutal blow that connected just below the arc reactor and sent Tony to his knees. He gripped the edge of a nearby table with one hand and tried not to retch as his body involuntarily curled in on itself. _Fuck, that hurt!_ He hoped the asshole didn't break a rib. Tony hated having broken ribs. The armor always seemed to poke in all the wrong places, no matter how often he tweaked the design.

A female voice cried out in protest somewhere nearby, and Tony swore silently. _Don't attract their attention, dammit!_ There he'd been doing so well at keeping all the assholes focused on himself, and now--

"Hey guys, look what I found!" Blondie was pulling a young woman to her feet, presumably the one who'd cried out. She looked like a college intern, wide-eyed and frightened, and much too pretty to be trapped in a room with half a dozen gun-toting goons high on rage and adrenaline. Blondie was already pulling her against him, giving that nasty laugh again as he groped at her breasts. The girl struggled, and Blondie laughed harder.

_Fuck._ Tony tightened his grip on the table's edge and pulled himself to his feet, took the time to arrange his face into the snidest, most smug expression he could manage, let his voice drip with contempt when he spoke.

"Oh come on, an _intern_? That's the height of your ambition? You take over an entire subsidiary of Stark Industries, complete with the guy whose name is on the building, and the best you can come up with is harassing the help? Pathetic."

Blondie's reaction was entirely predictable. He shoved the girl away and clenched his fist around the knot of Tony's necktie, jerking him close.

"Maybe I do want more than that, Stark," he hissed. "Maybe I want a billion-dollar mouth around my dick. What do you think of that?"

"Billion-dollar mouth around your dick?" Tony rolled his eyes and tried not to flinch too visibly at the stench of Blondie's breath in his face. "Is this a hostage situation or a bad porno? Because I can't tell from the dialog." He cast a quick glance around the room, noting the way the other thugs' attention was now clearly divided between himself and the rest of the hostages. "But hey, if that's what you boys are into, tell you what, I'll make you a deal." He let himself go limp and submissive in Blondie's grip, let his eyelashes flutter a bit as he ran his tongue slowly over his lower lip. "How about, for every one of you I suck off, you let a hostage go. You get your rocks off, the authorities have a reason to believe in your good faith, everyone's happy, how's that for a bargain?" 

There were six thugs. That meant he could get the wounded guard out, and the girl, and four other people as a bonus. All for doing the same sort of crap he used to do for shits and giggles at MIT frat parties. Definitely a bargain.

"We don't need to make any deals with you." Blondie raised his gun and pressed the barrel against Tony's temple. "You can blow me or you can get your brains spattered all over the wall, how's _that_ for a bargain?"

"Yeah, right, like you'll kill me." Tony heaved a dramatic sigh. "I'm the only hostage in this room you can actually get decent money for. You know the cops won't pay ransom." Stark Industries wouldn't pay either, as a matter of company policy, but these guys didn't need to know that. "Besides--" Tony bared his teeth and made a biting motion, sharp and vicious. "I don't think you really want to make me do this by force." Blondie's eyes narrowed behind the ski mask, and Tony quickly flashed him another grin. "Come on, I'm Tony goddamn Stark. I've given more blow jobs than everyone in this room combined. Don't you like to see an expert at work?"

Blondie took about three seconds to think it over, then shoved Tony to his knees.

"All right," he growled, "you've got your bargain."

* * *

The only real problem, Tony decided as he watched Blondie unzip his fly, was all the people watching. Not that he'd never sucked dick in front of an audience before, but there was a hell of a lot of difference between doing it in front of a crowd of drunken party-goers and doing it in front of a roomful of his own employees. It wasn't a pleasant thought, so Tony stopped thinking it, focused instead on the immediate task, namely the not-very-impressive dick now bobbing in front of his face. He leaned forward, ready to suck it in, but Blondie grabbed his hair and yanked him back.

"Lick it first," he ordered.

Yeah, okay, fine, he could do that too. Tony stuck out his tongue and made a pretty show of licking slow, wet strokes up the underside of Blondie's shaft before ducking down to lap at his balls. He threw in a few fake porno-style moans while he was at it, because he figured the idiot asshole would like that sort of thing. It did the trick, too -- Blondie took maybe a minute of teasing before he swore and trust hard into Tony's mouth, deep enough that his balls slapped against Tony's chin. Tony gagged a little but controlled himself quickly enough, and now it was easy, now there was nothing to do except kneel there and take it. 

It was nothing, it was familiar. He'd done this more times than he could count, dropped to his knees in front of an endless string of men and women whose names he wouldn't remember in the morning. Done it in nightclubs and hotel rooms, in celebrity mansions and boarding-school toilet stalls. This was no different, and if he could see the mouth of a gun barrel trained on him at the edge of his peripheral vision, well, all he had to do was close his eyes. If the hands clenching in his hair were a little rougher than usual -- well, he liked it rough, didn't he? He could do this. It was nothing.

Blondie shouted a string of obscenities as he came. Tony swallowed fast, before his gag reflex had time to kick in, and sat back on his heels. Another thug was already moving forward, hands at his fly, but Tony shook his head.

"Uh-huh. We had a bargain, remember?" He waved his hand in the general direction of the wounded security guard. "Get grandpa out of here before he bleeds anymore on my nice company floor. _Then_ I'll do the next one."

There was a brief, hushed conversation, and then two of the thugs hauled the security guard to his feet and helped him stagger from the room. Tony hoped they really were letting the man go; there was nothing he could do if they decided to haul him down to the basement and put a bullet in his head. But he thought they'd bought his line about proving good faith to the authorities, to the circling helicopters and the SWAT cops that must already be gathered outside. So he waited until the two thugs came back before refocusing his attention on Dick Number Two.

Dick Number Two was... wow, way more endowed than Blondie. Also, toting a smaller gun, so maybe there was some truth to all the jokes about guys with big guns compensating for something. This guy clearly had no confidence issues, and he had no interested in cheap porn theatrics either, just grabbed Tony's head and shoved in, fucking Tony's throat with a pace so fast and brutal, Tony thought he might pass out from sheer lack of opportunity to breathe. It was a relief when the guy finally came, and Tony got a chance to gasp for air while the intern got escorted from the room.

Apparently, his stamina wasn't what it used to be. His jaw ached, his throat felt raw, and his mouth tasted _foul_. This was what he got for doing this sober, Tony decided. Sobriety was like personal responsibility -- everyone kept telling him what a great idea it was, but it never worked out well when he tried it.

Dick Number Three was apparently another porno fan, because he finished by pulling out at the last moment and coming in thick, sticky spurts all over Tony's face. The others all had a good laugh over that one. Tony tried to wipe it off with his sleeve, but Blondie grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back.

"Leave it there," he hissed into Tony's ear. "Look like the whore you are."

"You need better dialog," Tony told him.

He was just getting a good rhythm going on Dick Number Four when someone muttered, "We should fuck him too," in a hoarse, hungry voice. Tony nearly burst out laughing because really, this was how long it took them to think of it? Worst villains ever.

He faltered a little when somebody came up behind him and reached around to tug at his fly, but that was just surprise. Rough, clumsy hands unbuckled his belt, pulled the zipper down--

And that was when the door burst open and the room filled with lightning.

Things got very hectic very quickly then. Clint and Natasha dropped from the ceiling vent. Steve burst into the room behind Thor, throwing his shield on the run. Only one of the thugs managed to get a shot off, and all it did was blow a hole in the wall two feet over Natasha's head. Steve's shield took the guy down on the rebound, and five seconds later it was all over. Six unconscious idiots on the floor, a crowd of very startled but unharmed hostages crowded up against one wall, and a roomful of very pissed-off Avengers.

And one Tony Stark, on his knees in the middle of the room, with his fly undone and come all over his face.

Tony grinned and raised one unsteady hand to wave. "Hey, guys. You're late for the orgy."

There was a long, appalled silence during which no one seemed to know if they wanted to stare at Tony or pretend they didn't see him there. Then Steve stepped forward, digging in a pouch at his belt, and handed over a--

"A handkerchief? Really?" Tony gaped at the neatly folded square of white linen in Steve's hand. "You actually go into battle carrying a handkerchief?"

Steve shrugged. "You'd be amazed at how often a clean piece of cloth comes in handy."

He had a point there. Tony took the handkerchief and scrubbed at his face. It felt good to be -- well, not clean exactly, but at least not actively disgusting. Handing the cloth back after that was clearly not an option, so Tony let it drop to the floor and climbed slowly to his feet, ignoring Steve's hesitant attempt to lend a helping hand.

"Back off, Gramps, I'm fine. Not a mark on me, see?"

That wasn't entirely true. He was pretty sure that his chest was developing some really spectacular bruising where that one blow with the rifle butt had landed. But Tony was ninety-nine percent sure that nothing was broken, so there was no need to mention it. Besides, the room was already starting to crawl with cops and paramedics, which meant he needed to get out of there, and fast.

"I'm up for pizza. Anyone else up for pizza? Let's go."

"Tony." Steve's voice took on that overly-patient tone he sometimes had, the one that never failed to set Tony's teeth on edge. "You need medical attention."

"No I don't," Tony snapped. "Trust me, the last thing I need right now is attention of any kind. You know the press is going to be here any minute, right? I need to be out of sight before they get here."

Steve and Clint looked dubious. Thor looked as if he was ready to pick Tony up and carry him to the nearest ambulance. It was Natasha, of all people, who abruptly took his side.

"Bruce can look him over in the van," she said.

The Hulk didn't get called in for ordinary human criminals, but Bruce had apparently tagged along anyhow. Now he waited outside in the back of an unmarked black van that might as well have had "Super Secret Government Property" emblazoned on the side in glowing neon letters. Tony tried to look relaxed and casual as he sauntered up, but Bruce took one look at him and began to glower.

"What the hell did you do to your ribs?"

"Good grief, do you have x-ray eyes or something?" Tony climbed into the van and moved toward the back as the others filed in behind him and closed the doors. "It's just a bruise, that's all."

Still, now that he thought of it, the ribs were a great distraction from... everything else. Tony pulled his tie off and let Bruce unbutton his shirt, pretended not to hear Clint's sympathetic hiss at the sight of the truly spectacular patch of black and blue beneath the arc reactor.

"Damn." Bruce pulled a standard SHIELD first aid kit from beneath his seat. "Are you having any shortness of breath? Dizziness? Have you coughed up any blood?"

"No, no and no." Tony accepted a cold pack and pressed it gingerly against his chest. "I told you, it's just a bruise. Can we go now?"

"Don't deflect, Tony." Steve gritted out through clenched teeth. "You know your ribs aren't the real issue here, you were--"

"Let's not start in with the melodrama, okay?" Tony held up his hands. "It was nothing, I mean it. We're talking what, three and a half blow jobs? I used to get more action than that in one weekend on the Riviera, don't try to make into -- whoa, Green Bean, don't start freaking out on me now."

Bruce was doing that slow, loud breathing he sometimes did when the Other Guy was too close to the surface.

" _What did they do to you?_ " he demanded in a voice that had way too much growl in it for Tony's comfort.

"Nothing! I swear, I'm completely uninjured except for the ribs. Now, I think we all need to calm down and we all need to get out of here. So is somebody going to drive, or do I have to do it myself?"

"I'll drive." Natasha climbed into the front and turned on the ignition.

Tony pressed the cold pack more closely against his chest and closed his eyes. It was going to be a long trip home.

* * *

The flight to New York was filled with awkward conversations, none of them between the people actually on the plane. Natasha was on a secured line with Fury, giving a mission report that Tony resolutely refused to listen to. Steve was being official and earnest with various Oregon law enforcement agencies, none of whom were happy with Tony for leaving the scene. Tony himself had a highly unpleasant talk with the West Coast branch of Stark Industries' legal department. By the time he was done, there was an army of lawyers heading out to contact his fellow hostages, armed with large sums of money and rigorous confidentiality agreements. Tony had no real hope that the day's events would stay under wraps forever, but perhaps he could minimize the fallout.

"JARVIS," he snapped once that bit of unpleasantness was done, "I want you to tap into the security system at the Eugene facility. If there's security footage of the cafeteria, wipe it."

"Right away, sir," JARVIS said briskly. "Though I presume you are aware that news coverage of the incident began over an hour ago?"

"Yeah, I figured. Monitor, let me know if there's anything I need to see." Tony shut off his phone and closed his eyes, letting himself go limp in his seat for a minute. He felt deeply, pathetically grateful that Pepper was in Japan, negotiating a possible joint venture with Fujikawa Inc. A brief, zero-fatalities hostage crisis in Oregon was unlikely to make a splash in the Japanese news. With any luck, Pepper wouldn't find out for another couple of days, and by then it would be clear that Tony was all right and there was nothing to worry about.

"Yes ma'am, we'll be in touch." Steve put down his own phone and gave Tony a sympathetic look. "You'll need to make a statement sooner or later," he said.

"Later is good," Tony told him, and made a bee-line for the plane's bathroom.

Locked in relative privacy, he leaned on the edge of the sink and examined himself in the mirror. His mouth looked bruised, and there was a small crescent-shaped mark near his left ear, as if somebody's thumbnail had gouged deep enough to draw blood. Tony didn't remember getting it, but just seeing the mark made his skin crawl, made the foul taste flood his mouth again. He turned on the faucet and scooped a mouthful of water, rinsed, spit, then did it again. And again. And fished out his phone.

"Make a note, JARVIS. In the future, all Avengers jets come equipped with those little courtesy kits they give out in first class. You know, with the towelettes and the cheap plastic combs. And the little bottles of mouthwash."

"Duly noted, sir."

"Good." Tony turned off the faucet and returned to his seat. 

Nobody said anything as he buckled himself in, but after a minute or so, Bruce silently leaned over and held out a roll of breath mints. Tony popped three into his mouth at once and chewed. The concentrated burst of spearmint made his eyes water, but it also made him feel better.

For a while, anyway.

* * *

Back at the tower, the other Avengers started to make vague noises about debriefings and medical check-ups, but Tony knew exactly how to deal with that. He'd spend decades honing his not-listening skills at MIT lectures, board meetings, and conference talks. A handful of superheroes weren't even a challenge. Tony barely acknowledged them with a wave as he headed for his private elevator.

"Lock down, JARVIS. Nobody comes into my suite unless I say so."

"Very well, sir."

The giant whirlpool tub in the master bathroom was tempting, but the shower was faster. Tony adjusted the temperature to slightly hotter than he normally liked, and stood with his hands braced against the tiled wall while the spray from the four adjustable shower heads drenched him from all sides. The heat and the pressure felt good on his tensed muscles, but after twenty minutes Tony still couldn't fully make himself relax. He stayed in the stall until the accumulating steam made it hard to breathe, then reluctantly got out. Found a pair of sweatpants and an old AC/DC t-shirt to wear. Brushed his teeth, padded into the living room to pour himself a scotch on the rocks. Gulped it down as he paced in front of the window, went and brushed his teeth again, came back and poured himself another one.

After three drinks, he finally felt relaxed enough to stop pacing and sprawl on the sofa. JARVIS dimmed the lights to sixty percent without being asked, and Tony leaned back against the cushions and propped his feet on the coffee table. His glass held nothing but a few ice cubes now, and he cradled it against his chest, letting the cold soothe the soreness in his ribs. It wasn't as soothing as the lingering burn of the whisky in his throat, but Tony felt too tired to get up and walk to the bar again.

"JARVIS, have you been filtering my calls?"

"I've taken the liberty, yes. You currently have ninety-seven potentially relevant voice-mail messa--"

"Just erase them, will you? If they're all that relevant, they'll call back."

"Very well, sir."

"And dim the lights to thirty percent." Tony let his head loll back and closed his eyes. He could feel a familiar lassitude creeping over him, the combined effects of alcohol and the adrenaline crash that came at the end of a stressful day. The room was warm. The sofa was deep and comfortable. Tony dozed off.

And woke in a panic, gasping for breath, fumbling not to drop the glass that now held a quarter-inch of lukewarm water where ice used to be. He had no idea what set him off, but he was sure his heartbeat would be racing if the arc reactor would let it.

"JARVIS, what time is it?"

"One thirty-nine AM, sir."

"Lights to eighty percent." Tony stood, blinking in the increased brightness, and took a slow, careful look around the room. Nothing. He was alone. No sound, no movement, nothing to justify the cold rush of fear that woke him. A nightmare, then, even if he had no memory of dreaming.

"Fuck," Tony muttered, and went to pour himself another drink.

No hope of sleeping again any time soon. Maybe he could at least get some work done. Tony was just turning toward the elevator doors when JARVIS spoke up again."

"Sir, I've been monitoring the news coverage of yesterday's incident as you instructed..." 

"Yes?" Tony prompted.

"Fox News has acquired... perhaps you should take some time to clear your head before you--"

"Just show it, JARVIS."

The projection TV screen on the wall across from the sofa flickered to life. There was no sound, only video, and the quality was bad enough that it took Tony a few seconds to realize that he was looking at himself, on his knees in front of an anonymous thug. The center of the screen was digitally blurred, obscuring the view right where Tony's head met the guy's crotch, but that did little do disguise what was happening. The words "Tony Stark's public disgrace" crawled across the bottom of the screen on a continuous loop, as if to ensure that even the stupidest Fox viewer got it.

" _Jesus..._ " Tony breathed past the painful constriction in his chest and the burn of bile in his throat. "JARVIS, I thought told you to wipe the security footage!"

"I did, sir. According to the network, this was taken with a cell phone."

"Oh." Tony raised one shaking hand to scrub at his face. "By one of the gunmen, I assume?"

"By one of the hostages, sir."

On screen, the picture cut from the video to the parking lot in Eugene, where a reporter in a cheap suit was gazing smugly at the camera.

"The hostage who provided us with this shocking footage," the man intoned, "could offer no explanation for Stark's highly disturbing actions. But the incident once again raises uncomfortable questions about the psychological state of the man who wears the Iron Man suit, and the possible lingering effects of Stark's captivity in Afghanistan three years ag--"

Tony's glass hit the screen and shattered, raining whisky, ice and broken glass on the carpet. The TV went dark and silent, though the screen showed only a hairline crack. 

"Sir?" There was a slight catch in JARVIS's voice. "Sir, are you all right? Should I summon--"

"I need to clean this up," Tony said numbly. He hadn't meant to throw his drink, it had just... happened. He crossed the room on unsteady legs and kneeled next to the spreading amber stain on the white carpet, ignoring JARVIS's increasingly urgent questions. He tried to pick up one of the glass pieces, but his hands were clumsy and shaking, and he ended up slicing an inch-long gash across the heel of his right hand, right at the base of his thumb. The pain was dull and distant, but the vivid upwelling of red held him hypnotized. He knelt there, frozen, and watched it drip on the carpet, and wondered vaguely why JARVIS sounded so agitated.

* * *

"Tony." Somebody was talking to him. Somebody was holding his shoulders and repeating his name in a quiet, worried tone. "Tony. You are not well, my friend. Perhaps you should find a safer place to be, before you do yourself further injury."

Thor. No one else talked like that, and no one else had hands that huge. Most of the time, Thor's presence tended to be overwhelming, but now he was speaking barely above a whisper and using no force at all, and that in itself was startling enough that Tony let himself be drawn to his feet and walked back to the sofa before he remembered why he was on the floor in the first place.

"I was cleaning up..." he said.

"I've got it." Natasha, as usual, had appeared like a ghost out of thin air. One second she hadn't been there, the next she was crouching in the spot Tony had just left, gathering pieces of broken glass into a napkin. "You sit. Get that hand looked at."

"It's fine." Tony sank into the sofa and looked down at his blood-streaked palm. It was starting to throb a bit now, but he could see that the cut wasn't deep. 

"Let me see that." Steve sat down next to him at took hold of his wrist. Like Thor, he was being obviously and deliberately not-forceful, his fingers gentle as he pressed a washcloth against Tony's hand. "Do you have a first-aid kit in here, or should I go fetch mine?"

"Cabinet under the bathroom sink, second shelf on the left," JARVIS said helpfully.

"I'll get it." That was Clint, already heading toward the bathroom. Tony was starting to feel a little overwhelmed, and a little annoyed. Did the entire team somehow teleport into his penthouse in the few seconds he'd spaced out on the floor?

"JARVIS, I'd told you to keep everyone out."

"I tried, sir." JARVIS didn't sound especially repentant over his failure. "Unfortunately, Mr. Odinson's proximity tends to disrupt the electronic locks."

"Uh-huh." Tony wasn't convinced. Thor's presence interfered with electronics only when he wanted it to. "And the mechanical locks?"

"Ms Romanoff's proximity tends to disrupt those."

Clint came back with the first-aid kit and tried to hand it to Steve, but Tony grabbed it first.

"I can do this myself," he grumbled. "I'm not _five_ , you know."

"It's easier with two hands," Steve pointed out, but he sat back and watched without interfering while Tony dabbed antiseptic cream on the cut, pressed a gauze pad on top of it, and neatly wrapped a bandage around the whole thing.

"See?" He waved his bandaged hand in front of Steve's face. "Competent adult here."

"Never doubted it for a moment," Steve said solemnly.

"Here." Bruce appeared, nearly as silent and unobtrusive as Natasha, and pressed a warm mug into Tony's upraised hand. "I think a competent adult could use a cup of tea."

"I don't know where you get these notions." Tony frowned at the greenish liquid in the mug. "Is that the weird herbal shit you mail-order from Thailand? It smells like swamp water."

"It's good." Bruce held up a second mug and took a sip. "Try it."

It was pretty good, actually. Much less swampy than it smelled, and with a pleasant astringent aftertaste. Tony took small sips and glanced from side to side, taking in the utterly unexpected late-night gathering of Avengers in his living room. Steve, on the sofa next to him. Thor, perched on the sofa's arm. Bruce leaning against the wall a few feet away, Natasha in the big red recliner Pepper liked, Clint at the bar blithely helping himself to Tony's booze. It was almost two in the morning, yet everyone was fully dressed and no one looked as if they'd been recently dragged out of bed, which meant they'd stayed up all this time, probably hanging out in the common area five floors below and--

_Oh._ The sick tension he'd been so effectively distracted from over the past five minutes came rushing back like a hard blow to the gut, leaving him aching and breathless.

"You saw," he choked out, and had to fight not flinch at the ragged note in his own voice. "You saw the Fox footage."

Steve winced. Thor awkwardly shifted his weight on the sofa arm, which, him being Thor, made the entire sofa creak and shudder. Bruce suddenly became deeply fascinated with the dregs of his tea. Natasha, being Natasha, betrayed no reaction.

"Yeah," Clint said in a tight voice. "We saw the footage. We saw about five seconds of the footage, and then we turned it the fuck off because we're not assholes."

"Which puts us one up on Fox News," Bruce said dryly.

"They had no right to show that," Steve growled and wow, that was some genuine, one hundred percent pure Captain America rage there. Tony didn't think he'd ever heard it directed at anything that wasn't trying to blow up Manhattan. "No right. That was a vile thing to do."

"Captain America, objecting to freedom of the press?" Tony let out a short, bitter laugh. "Better not let Fox News get a wind of _that_."

"That's not what I--" Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His face was very pale. "That's not what freedom of the press is _for_."

"Have you actually seen what the press puts out these days?" Tony tried to keep his voice light, but apparently his usual defense mechanisms were malfunctioning tonight. Every word he said sounded fractured and jagged to his own ears. "Look, I appreciate the righteous indignation on my behalf, but you do know there's about a million sex tapes of me circulating on the internet, right? I mean okay, so the gunplay kink is a new twist, but really, but my standards that's not even hardcore, it's-- Ow."

A splash of hot tea on his fingers nearly made him drop his mug. His hands were shaking so badly, he was spilling the stuff all over himself. This was no good. Tony leaned forward and set his mug down on the coffee table. It came down with a bit more force than he'd intended, spilling more tea on the polished glass surface. Tony stayed where he was, slumped forward in his seat, head down. 

"It's no big deal," he stuttered in a weak voice. "Seriously, it's nothing."

" _It is not nothing!_ " Steve managed to sound even more angry than he had before, which Tony wouldn't have thought possible. "Stop trying to dismiss what happened Tony, it's not nothing." He reached out and rested one hand on Tony's back, a warm, reassuringly solid weight between Tony's shoulder blades. "But it's nothing you need to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed," Tony muttered, but he couldn't bring himself to raise his head and meet Steve's eyes. Or anyone else's eyes, for that matter.

"The shame is not on you but on them," Thor rumbled. "The ungrateful blackguard who made those images of you, and the ones who showed them to the world. They must be great cowards indeed, if they wish to shame a better man for bravery."

" _Bravery?_ " Tony spat out the word as if it tasted bad. "Is that what you call it?"

"Damn right we do." Natasha uncurled herself from the recliner and came over to perch on the edge of the coffee table facing Tony, her left knee pressed lightly against his right. "Come on, Tony. Those idiots at Fox might pretend that they don't know why you did it, but we do. You were protecting people. You were saving lives."

"I--" Tony bit his lip and shivered. "I thought I was."

"You did." Natasha's voice was firm. "That first hostage they released, the security guard with the shoulder wound? I've seen wounds like that before, I know what they mean. That man would've bled to death if he hadn't gotten medical help when he did. And you -- you got them to let him go, didn't you? In exchange."

"And it wasn't just the guard, was it?" Clint said quietly from somewhere nearby. "From what little I saw, those gunmen were angry and stupid and packing way too much firepower. Now, I wasn't the man on the ground, Stark, but you were, so you tell me -- how close were they to going off the deep end and just shooting up the place?"

"Pretty close." Tony was still shivering, but he finally managed to lift his head. He looked at Clint first, then at the others. They all looked back steadily, and Tony felt as if he could breathe again, as if he'd been drowning in icy water and now there was nothing but warmth and sweet, clean air.

Because his team knew. They understood. They hadn't been there and he hadn't told them, but they'd seen five seconds of footage and understood exactly what he'd done and why. No matter what everyone else thought, no matter how many strangers might stay up to watch the late night news and walk away shaking their heads at the latest humiliating Tony Stark failure, it wasn't important.

The Avengers knew. That was what mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt on avengerkink: Tony is captured by...I dunno, somebody. And there are maybe other hostages too. And it's some creep's idea that, like, in order to save people (either letting them go, or just not hurting them) Tony has to, y'know, /pleasure/ his captors or something. 
> 
> And Tony's like, really? That is like the lamest thing I've ever heard. It's like the plot of a porno. A BAD porno. Sure, whatever, I'm Tony Stark, what do I care?
> 
> But then, later, after he's rescued or escapes or whatever, the whole thing kinda catches up to him and he actaully has a real hard time dealing. And then h/c ensues, with, like, everybody.


End file.
